


we learned to be gentle by brutal means

by rustyshiv



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 20:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10557010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyshiv/pseuds/rustyshiv
Summary: There are some nights where Stiles wakes up gasping silently, as if his brain was already telling him to shut up before he fully woke.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **you** : porn without plot
> 
> **me, an intellectual** : scenes of an intimate sexual nature without necessary further context
> 
>  
> 
> There are some potentially triggering scenes in this. I would strongly advise you look at the end notes for those potentially triggering scenes, all of which are sexual in nature. I'm not here to cause pain, I'm here to cause pleasure.

There are nights after Derek comes back to Beacon Hills, lying with Stiles in the kind of silence that buzzes in the back of your brain, where he’s quite certain Stiles is more wolf than he. 

He has trouble sleeping, like most anyone would, after what he’s been through. He won’t tell Derek, makes glib jokes about it- _you have to be level ten friend for that, dude_ \- as if Derek is still just that, a friend. Whatever it is has left him stitched unevenly back together, like those Japanese plates with gold inlay around their cracks. 

He sleeps tightly curled around himself, arms pressing down on his stomach and chin tucked into his chest, so wound up Derek wonders how he doesn’t wake up creaking. When he does reach out, he does so by twitches, by minute gestures of feet and hands and lips, as if even his subconscious is scared to reach out for comfort. 

Derek does his level best to hold him tighter every time he twitches like that. 

Stiles doesn’t talk anymore, doesn’t ramble or digress or fill the silence with the latest random fact about the myopic decay of some obscure mammal Derek forgot was even part of the food chain. He sits there and does schoolwork, drinking cup after cup of coffee, and it would be depressing, except for how Stiles’ heart never blips once when he says, _I’m fine, really, stop asking, everything’s okay_. 

Stiles has gotten better at lying. 

But there are some nights, with no pattern Derek can comprehend, that Stiles wakes up gasping silently- a gaping mouth and a thin, subdued whistle click in the back of his throat that comes out garbled, as if his brain was already telling him to shut up before he fully woke. 

Those nights, Stiles will fight off the iron band of Derek’s forearm from his waist and then turn, grabbing onto his bicep with more strength than Derek would’ve given him credit for, and become something feral.

He’ll get in close, breathing as if he’d just finished running miles to get exactly here, and his hands will curl inwards to blunt nails, digging in and rooting himself there. 

With ragged breath, he’ll bring his mouth in hesitantly, like an animal tasting food to verify if it’s edible or not, and then, once sure of his welcome, he bites. He bites with the surety that Derek can heal, that Derek will, in fact, bite back, because they’ve stopped being humans for this night. 

So Stiles will hiss, _just let me, god, just- just let me_

And Derek will grab onto the back of his neck and drag him down, to neck, to chest, to nipple, to stomach, to cock, and Stiles growls and leaves marks like chain marks around his pecs, teeth wearing a shape like an S, like a last name change, like a promise of forever that pings in the deep lizard brain. 

Stiles will bite until Derek growls in pain and displeasure, bite until those bites become sucks, sweet little suckling movements that are wet and hot and leave his stomach swooping in base lust for this wolf-boy, this damaged, demanding Regulus. 

It burns at the very core of him, to ask what has left him this changed. He wants to demand Stiles tell him what happened to him that leaves him ignoring every call Scott makes, has him driving a car that isn’t his mother’s jeep, why only Scott and Lydia and the Sheriff even seem to remember a thing about him, as if the town has chosen county wide to forget this boy that shines as bright and is now burning away as slowly as a constellation. 

Whatever that is leaves Stiles gasping audibly around a nipple, hand like a vice around Derek’s cock, tugging in a rhythm- down, up, circle, half down, circle, half-up, down, up, circle- a pattern that makes Derek suppress a whine and buck up wildly into his hand. Stiles lets go of the abused skin around his nipple with one last sucking bite, pulling until he can’t, and drags his mouth down- more and more bruises blooming as he paves his way. 

He doesn’t dawdle, not like the way Derek knows he likes to, not the way Derek prefers most, even though this works for both of them when either can’t get out of their memories. Stiles’ mouth turns level with Derek’s cock and he opens wide, sucking down until the entire thing is in his mouth, prodding almost rudely at the back of his throat. 

The noise is obscene in the silent room, just loud, desperate gagging and near-retching that shouldn’t sound as appealing as it does, Christ, and Derek’s breathing. It’s ragged and thin, and his head is swimming through it, and there’s something in him that wants to slow down, to soften a bit, to trade this desperation for the soft, lazy way Derek knows Stiles can get him off.

But instead, he threads his hands through Stiles’ unruly hair and tugs, once. “Come up here,” he begs, “Stiles. Come here.”

Stiles opens his eyes, meets his gaze, and the sheer need in them, the look that screams if he doesn’t get this, he might very well die, has Derek groaning a very fervent, “ _Fuck_ ,” and dragging him up, dragging him off, to get closer to that mouth. 

Stiles pops off with an audible, rude suction sound, strings of spit making their way out of his mouth and onto Derek’s cock or Stiles’ chin, so Derek grabs him by it and wipes it off, brings it to himself and sucks, watches Stiles focus on his hollowing cheeks and dazed eyes. 

“Derek,” he rasps. His throat is gone, all that’s left behind is gravel. His hand comes up to Derek’s shoulders, scratches down to his nipples, and he whimpers. “Derek. I need.”

“Yeah,” Derek mutters, garbled by his fingers, by his closing throat, by his aching chest and bleeding heart and throbbing cock. “Go on then.”

Stiles makes a sound, loud and uninhibited, falling onto Derek’s lap, and kisses him, open mouthed, devouring. Derek has an awkward moment where his fingers need to get out to allow Stiles’ tongue in, but he merely brings his soaked hand behind himself, down as far as he can go before he encounters sheets. 

“Stiles,” He gets out between biting kisses that fuck his mouth and leave his lips raw. “Stiles.”

Stiles grunts, and shifts to let him up, let him get a comfortable, easy angle. It’s an angle that leaves them in reverse, Derek perched on Stiles’ lap. Stiles doesn’t seem to mind the reverse, merely drags Derek back by the scruff of his neck to continue his mauling, nails and teeth leaves trails of raised skin and stinging open cuts that only makes Derek kiss him harder. Stiles shifts to get closer to his trapezius, a bruise there growing steadily, before Stiles’ cock strikes off Derek’s, setting off a wave of wildfire through his veins. 

His eyes close and he groans, humping down to get that same feeling back. He feels feral with his need, need that Stiles amplifies by growling out, fuck, Derek, and frotting up in a daze, staring in rapt awe as Derek becomes subvocal. 

“Stiles… just- fucking _do it._ ” He snarls, and Stiles’ hands become nails again, his smile becomes a snarl, and there’s the man that woke up on a bed of nails, the one that turned wolf without ever having to get bitten. 

Stiles brings his hand to Derek’s mouth, three fingers prodding at his cracked, raw lips. Derek sucks them in mindlessly, sucks and licks like a man possessed, until Stiles takes them out and brings them down, down, down until they’re rubbing at Derek’s asshole, and Derek’s stomach churns. 

“There now,” Stiles croons, and Derek whines without knowing how they got here, from Stiles waking in a panic to Stiles holding his sanity by a thread and Derek loving it. “I’ve got you. You needed this, didn’t you? _I_ needed this.” He cuts off to suck a bruise, weirdly enough, at Derek’s bicep.

“And you’re so good, Derek,” He continues once the bruise is dime-size and fading. Derek whines at the praise, bucks down to Stiles’ fingers and then wildly up again to rub off on his cock. “That’s it, you’re so good to me. Good for me. Know just what I need, and you give it to me. Isn’t that right?”

Derek groans from deep in his chest, then gasps as Stiles glances against his prostate, just barely missing it, something he knows Stiles does on purpose. Stiles verifies when he lets out a chuckle, breathy and kind, and asks, “There? You need it there?”

Derek nods, shuffling closer on his knees, sitting down on Stiles’ thighs and hip, until their cocks are pressed together from balls to head. It’s not technically comfortable, and Derek can’t move much, but just the fact that shifting minutely sends sparks through him has his cock dripping precome onto Stiles’ stomach. 

“Tell me, Der,” Stiles mumbles, mouth open against Derek’s jaw. He, too, is twitching upwards to get friction on their dicks. “Out loud, babe. Tell me.”

Derek lifts his head, incensed. Stiles knows he hates giving dirty talk, would much rather be on the receiving side of the filth that seems to come so freely and genuinely from Stiles. But Stiles just prods around his prostate some more with a face that echoes the need he had earlier during the face fucking. 

So Derek does. 

“I need it,” He mumbles. His cheeks flare bright red almost immediately, so he ducks his head back into Stiles’ neck, and continues. “I need you to fuck me. Stiles, fuck me now.”

Stiles’ free hand comes up to Derek’s sweaty neck, grabs on gently, like an anchor, and he huffs. “ _Nicely_ , babe.”

Derek whines silently, just a petulant tilt of his neck into Stiles’s collarbone that has Stiles huffing again and taking his fingers out entirely. 

No!” Derek gasps, frotting wildly back to get them back in. “Stiles!”

“Nicely, sweetheart,” Stiles bites at Derek’s neck, and sucks softly at his jaw. 

Derek rubs against Stiles’ cock as he pants, as he begs, “Stiles, please. Please, just fuck me, I need it, need it now. Please.”

Stiles shushes him gently, runs his clean hand through his hair, kisses him open-mouthed. “Good boy, that’s good.” Derek feels something slick and heavy, warm, settle in his gut. “Can you get me the lube?”

Derek stays on his lap for a bit, trades wet kisses, until Stiles presses one knuckle into his perineum and Derek shivers. Stiles smiles, nudges his chin with his other hand, and says, “Lube, babe.” 

It’s a mind-bogglingly difficult task to do- his mind just doesn’t compute, too lust-addled and desperate to get fucked, but his body has practically locked into this position, and his knees complain when he stretches up and out. When he stands up on one leg at the edge of the bed, he fucking _wobbles_ ; has to catch himself before he tumbles entirely. He looks to Stiles to see if he’s amused, but Stiles just looks hungry again.

His eyes roam Derek’s body, never staying long on one particular area, and Derek realizes he’s mapping the bruises and scratch marks he’s left, hand wrapped around his cock and teeth worrying at his lip. With his gaze, his pose, and his hair in disarray, he looks indecent and lecherous. 

It makes Derek’s sudden nerves relax, knowing he’s wanted, genuinely, truly, this much. That he wants, in return. 

And yet there’s that part of him that wants to go to Stiles and slow down, again. To ask Stiles to turn gentle, that enjoying a meal slowly is better than ravaging it down. 

He wants to tell Stiles that he has never felt more wanted than when Stiles mapped out every imperfection in his skin with his mouth, and that he wants Stiles just as much. That whatever has happened, whatever may happen, he remembers Stiles, could never forget him. He wants to tell him Stiles doesn’t have to make sure to carve a place for himself in Derek’s life every time he wakes up.

Derek wants to tell him Derek made a place for him the second Derek saw him, and it’s such a large space that he could never forget him. 

Before long, Derek realizes he hasn’t made any kind of move towards the lube, has just stood there and stared at his lover like a creep, and shakes off his fugue to see Stiles standing in front of him.

“Hey, there you are,” Stiles says, hands out and grasping for air. He sounds bad, sounds extremely worried. “You alright? Can I touch you? Are you okay to speak? Can you safeword? It’s okay if you can’t, just blink twice and this stops, babe.”

Derek does blink, in surprise, but Stiles’ face crumples in horror and pain, before he sucks in a breath, and becomes blank, becomes serviceable. “Okay, can you lay down for me? I’ll be right back, I’ll get cocoa- my mom used to-”

“Stiles,” Derek tries to interrupt, but Stiles has become that type of blur reminiscent of Before, where his mouth and hands ran at the speed of light, and he starts stripping the bed of the soiled sheets, mumbling to himself to _get water, get food, get a hot water bottle, shit, what’ve I done, motherfuck- turn the heat up, turn the a/c up, whichever one he needs-_

“Stiles!” Derek shouts, and Stiles lets out a surprised huff, stops creating mindless messes in a panic, and stares. There’s a soft silence, buzzing again at the back of Derek’s brain, before he says, “I’m okay. I didn’t safeword out. I blinked because you surprised me.”

Stiles opens his mouth, closes it again, and his body sags. He drops the pillow he’s holding to his side, then says, “You zoned out. I kept calling, but you didn’t answer. I panicked.”

Derek makes a soft sound, and walks towards where Stiles looks lost and small. He brings his hands up to wrap around Stiles’ biceps, ducking to try and meet his eyes, but Stiles is evading his gaze.

The buzzing starts again, and Derek waits it out this time, until Stiles inhales shakily and says in a small voice, “I thought I hurt you.” 

Derek has his arms around him immediately, and his heart cracks down the middle a little when he hears Stiles sob, stifles his own tears when Stiles garbles, “I’ve hurt so many people, but not you… I can’t hurt you.”

It’s his turn to grab Stiles by the scruff of the neck, anchoring him as he shushes him gently, saying, “It’s okay. I’m fine, I’m not hurt, I swear it, Stiles. You didn’t hurt me, Stiles. Okay? I’m peachy keen, jellybean.”

And the stupid, silly words succeed in making Stiles snort wetly, stifle a giggle, and hug back, hug tightly, like he’s just woken up again and needs to make sure Derek is _there_ and _real_. 

Which reminds him. 

“Stiles, I’m right here. Okay? I’m not leaving, I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten you, babe.” He holds on tighter when Stiles stiffens. “You’re real, you’re Stiles Stilinski, I’m Derek Hale, and I remember you. I remember everything about you. You’re human, you’re nineteen, and I am deeply, deeply in love with you.” Stiles makes a sound into his chest, tightens his arms then. “I love you so much. And I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

They stay hugging for a while, Stiles tucked into his chest and Derek’s nose tucked behind Stiles’ ear, before Stiles shuffles up to stare. He stares at Derek, eyes wide and fathomless, before he offers a wobbly smile.

“I love you too,” he whispers, and then his smile turns happy, turns the crinkles in the corners of his eyes even deeper, and he says again, “I love you too, so much.”

The kiss isn’t anything like the ones they’ve inflicted on each other tonight. This one is more them, softer and gentle, for all that it’s just as wet as before. This time, when Stiles’ hands begin to claw, it’s in response to Derek, not in spite of him. They dig in sweetly when Derek sucks at his tongue, when Derek runs his hand down from Stiles’ neck to his Adonis belt and leaves his hand there. They leave little red furrows this time when Derek tickles at Stiles hipbone, feeling his cock twitch in response.

They’re both starting to chub up again, lost erections from earlier’s panic swelling quicker this time around with a vengeance. It makes them turn a little more desperate, makes their mouths open wider, easier to fuck each other’s tongues that way. It makes their hands roam faster, easier to grab and drag and stroke each other with. And it makes it easier to push and pull back onto the bed, to fuck each other on. 

Stiles ends up on the bottom again, lying perpendicular and off center, with Derek’s thigh in between his, rubbing against his weeping cock. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s back, sucks a new bruise on his neck, and says, “Can I? Are you still?”

“Yeah,” Derek growls back, snarling when Stiles wraps his legs around his waist and maneuvers himself on top. “Yeah, please. Stiles, god.”

Stiles grins wickedly, winks when he takes the same path from earlier, slower this time and less painfully, and it’s not until his mouth is biting the chain of faded bruises that he breaks off into wry laughter.

Derek grunts. “What?”

“All that conversation…” Stiles begins, then licks the bead of precome of Derek’s cockhead. “We still forgot the lube.”

Derek rolls his eyes, then sinks purposefully into the mattress, raises his arms in a lewd stretch. “Oh, _darn_ ,” he drawls sarcastically. “I’m just too comfy to get up now.”

Stiles snorts at him, his lip pulling up in the corner, and swats at his thigh. “Alright, alright. I’ll get it, your highness.”

“Don’t zone out while you’re up there, I might make you _cocoa,_ ” Derek singsongs, and Stiles lets out a bark of surprised laughter before holding up a stern finger and wagging it.

“That’s not funny, Der.”

Derek smiles in a self satisfied way. “I thought it was funny.”

“Yes, well,” Stiles mutters as he comes back with the bottle in his hand. “What have we said about your jokes?” He kneels on top of Derek, braced on his hands, smiling down, before he turns a bit more somber. 

“I do love you,” he whispers, sounding excited and amazed by it, and Derek can’t help but blush. He grunts and nudges a thigh against Stiles’, and Stiles grins in response. “Okay, babe. Okay.”

It’s just the way Derek likes, slow and methodical, one finger at a time, each one pressing against his prostate gently. Stiles increasing the pressure the more fingers he adds. Mouthing at his neck and chest wetly, sucking down his cock or his balls as he rubs his perineum. The noises he makes in response to the desperate whining Derek starts up. Stiles making his way south until his tongue curls deliciously into him as well, fighting for a spot amongst his fingers. 

Derek opens his mouth on a keen when Stiles’ hand leaves his ass to make way for his mouth entire, sucking and nipping, while both hands pluck nipples and stroke his cock ruthlessly. He plants his feet and gyrates, fucking his ass back onto Stiles’ tongue and his cock further into his hand; Stiles, who’s staring at him with familar hunger as he moves with Derek’s hips. 

Before long, there’s a warmth and a falling sensation building in his stomach, hips, lower back, bunching up his thigh muscles and abs. He grows wild, so wild Stiles lets go of his nipples to clamp down as much as he can on Derek mid-orgasm. 

“Stiles- I can’t, I’m com- I’m coming!” Derek grabs him by the hair, to pull him off, to make it last longer, but Stiles snarls, wolflike, and sucks harder, strokes in a tighter fist, and Derek lets go when Stiles’ thumb rubs against the spot just under his head, beneath his foreskin.

As he comes, Stiles pulls off his ass, keeps his mouth open and eyes closed as Derek’s come hits his face and neck and hair. He strokes and gently circles until he’s milked all the come he can and Derek is pushing him away, and only then does he open his eyes. 

He looks like sin, sweaty and panting and covered forehead to neck in come. He licks his lips and swallows, brings his clean hand around to wipe off what he can, only to bring that to his mouth and swallow _that_ too.

“You’re such a slut,” Derek slurs fondly, and Stiles just waggles his eyebrows at him with a silly grin. 

“Baby, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Stiles declares grandly and reaches for the lube to slick himself up, but Derek stops him.

“Let me?” He asks, and Stiles lets go of the bottle, moves up the bed to the pillows and lays back, watching Derek. 

Derek grabs the bottle and leaves it by Stiles’ hip, but merely makes himself comfortable against the spread thighs and nips at a hip. It makes Stiles’ cock twitch, so Derek sucks at the spot, and Stiles groans, hand threading through his hair. 

Derek snuffles a bit desperately to his cock, opening to mouth wetly from balls to head, where he dips his tongue into the slit before latching on and sucking hard. It causes a yelp and precome to drip onto his tongue, precome he _could_ swallow, but decides not to, instead pushing it to the tip of his tongue and opening his mouth. 

He lets the precome and spit drip out, feeling wanton and dirty, feeling more than hearing Stiles’ groan at the way he licks the mess back up where it’s pooled at the base and his balls. 

Stiles doesn’t have foreskin like Derek, but he still is incredibly sensitive around his glans and so Derek sucks at that area, wrapping his hand over the rest. His other hand roams where Stiles seems to respond to it. He presses against his perineum, threatening to breach the tight pucker of his asshole when he swears loudly, and walks its way up back to Stiles’ hipbone, to his nipples, which get him a hiss and more precome squirted that Derek allows to dribble down his chin, before his hand finds its home against Stiles’ throat, where it rests gently, not a threat, not a kink, just rests against Stiles’ pulse point to feel his thundering heartbeat. 

Stiles reaches for that hand, wraps his own around Derek’s forearm, and the other hand travels from Derek’s hair to his cheek, poking a bit. Derek looks up, amused, to see Stiles’ expression of focus, the kind he gets when he’s enjoying himself, clouded by lust. Derek lets go of the cock in his hand and sucks down, tightening the hollow of his cheeks until his lips touch the wiry base of Stiles pelvic bone. 

“ _Mother_ -” Stiles’ hand flies back to his hair, then moves again to his cheek when Derek sucks at an angle that allows the head to poke obscenely into his cheek. “Up. Derek, up, I need- I won’t last. I need to get inside you now.”

In a move he stole straight from Stiles, he sucks off until Stiles’ cock pops audibly from his mouth and lets the spit and precome dribble a bit, strings of it attached to Stiles’ cock, Derek’s chin, Derek’s mouth, and some pooled into the space underneath Derek’s tongue. It only works to make Stiles tug harder towards him. 

“Nicely, babe,” Derek taunts, sitting up closer and grabbing the lube. Stiles groans. 

“Derek, your jokes, man. They need-” His breath hitches when Derek wraps a slicked hand around him and starts spreading. “They need work. Enough, that’s good, leave some for you.”

Derek makes quick work of it, even though Stiles glares at him for potentially hurting himself, and lines Stiles up with his hole. 

“Wait, wait!” Stiles shouts and Derek practically bolts. It’s only Stiles holding him that keeps him there. “I love you.”

Derek doesn’t want to admit it, but it makes him melt, how earnestly Stiles looks, even though this isn’t the first time tonight it’s been said, but because he’s an asshole, and he’s fantastically turned on, he merely gives a shit eating grin and says, “I know,” before sinking down as far as he can go.

Stiles’ laugh is strained as Derek corkscrews him deeper inside, until he’s buried at the hilt, pressing up against Derek’s prostate, and Derek can’t breathe for how good it feels, like coming home every time. 

“This is not going to last long,” he grits out, rolling his hips subtly to press down even harder against that spot. 

“Yeah,” Stiles gasps out, sounding wrecked. “Christ, how are you _still_ so tight? Always so fucking _tight_.” He grabs Derek’s ass in both hands, squeezes and then pulls apart, making Derek whine in the back of his throat. 

“That’s it,” Stiles encourages, squeezing rhythmically with every gyration of Derek’s hips. “Come on, baby, fuck yourself on me. Fuck yourself on my cock.”

It’s Derek’s turn for his hands to turn to talons, curling into Stiles’ chest and raking down as he tosses his head back. Stiles rubs up one hand to his nipples, starts tugging on one as Derek’s hips slowly stop circling and start moving up and down. He makes sure to touch on his prostate with every bounce, and it’s a vicious cycle of sex as every bounce causes him to rub his prostate, which causes him to tighten on Stiles’ cock on the slide back up, making Stiles hiss and writhe and leak out even more filth from his mouth, making Derek louder and harder and rougher and more desperate. 

Stiles pulls strength up from his core to sit up and drags Derek’s mouth to his, forcing it open on his tongue and fucking inside at the same rhythm Derek is fucking himself on Stiles. It makes Derek mewl, open wider for more, drop harder for more stimulation, squeeze stronger for Stiles, and Stiles eats all this up with a wicked grin and crude words.

“Look at you. Wet and desperate, fucking yourself so prettily. You look so good this way, on top of me, needy for my cock, my mouth, my hand. You need my cock, don’t you?” Stiles says, in between wet tongue and sharp bites; he grabs both Derek’s asscheeks in his hands again and squeezes. “I love how you take it. You take everything I give you so well. You’re such a good boy, you’re my good boy.”

Derek whines, feeling his thighs buckle and cramp at the speed, the force, but not wanting to stop, needing to take it all, to be good. He gets sloppy, breaks rhythm in a near panic, before Stiles wraps his arms around his waist and thrusts up firmly to the base of his cock. He leaves Derek there, cock pressed up directly into his prostate. He writhes a little, mewls loudly and groans into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles gives him wet, doting kisses on a slack mouth before nudging his head up to look at him.

“Beautiful,” Stiles whispers. “Absolutely precious.” Derek blushes hotly, pleased and embarrassed by turns at how much he likes being this- pliant and prey. 

“You look like every single one of my best dreams come to life right now, Der. I can’t begin to describe how much I love this, how much I love you.” 

And right now, in whatever corner of Derek’s mind that hasn’t dropped into pliancy and sex, hearing those words in this state is the best high in the world. He croons softly, pulses and tightens around the cock that still hasn’t moved.

It makes Stiles shiver, and makes him grin. “Have you gotten your breath back? Can you move again without it hurting, babe?”

Derek tries, moves up slightly on trembling, tight thighs before, to his shame, almost tearing up. “I- I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“Hey, now, shh. It’s okay.” Stiles soothes. “It’s okay. If you can’t ride me because your legs are too tight, that’s fine. We’ll switch positions and I’ll be on top. Can you switch positions for me? Lay on your stomach with your legs spread?”

Derek manages to get off with some help from Stiles, who pulls him off and settles him gently without tumbling to the bed. It’s embarrassing, but Stiles doesn’t make noise about it. Derek appreciates that. 

He lies down and stares as Stiles shuffles from sitting up to kneeling, crab shuffles sideways until he’s leaning over Derek and smiles. 

“There,” He says, sounding satisfied. “Better?”

Derek grunts petulantly, cocking his lower leg up from the bed as far as he can to try to kick him, and Stiles chortles. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get on with it, haven’t got all night, etcetera, etcetera.” Stiles mumbles, kneeling above Derek and slowly lowering himself down, starting from thigh to thigh, then pelvic bone and cock to ass, chest to back, and mouth to cheek, until Derek feels smothered and warm and oh so good. 

He grunts again, and allows his fingers to twitch where they’re above his head, and it makes Stiles grin into his jaw before kissing it gently and sinking in his ass again. 

Derek moans at how deep Stiles seems determined to get, how surrounded by Stiles he seems, how everywhere he turns there’s Stiles’ skin and hair and smell and taste, and it makes him unclasp his hands from each other and search blindly, half desperate, until he feels Stiles reaching for him and grabbing on, interlocking their fingers. 

“Fuck, Derek, fuck,” Stiles gasps, face tucked into Derek’s neck, voice thick with need. “Shit, love, are you close? Are you- fuck!”

Derek’s been close since Stiles woke up, is now just frothing at the mouth to come, and he opens his mouth to let Stiles know this, except all that comes out are guttural moans, loud and uninhibited unlike anything Derek has ever let out during sex before. 

He’s not a screamer, and yet. 

Stiles swears as Derek’s own hit a crescendo, as Derek begins once again to gyrate, getting friction on his cock and balls before pressing up against Stiles. He lets go of Stiles’ hands to brace himself on the bed, to go faster, gets a hand on the headboard, throws his head back onto Stiles’s shoulder, and Stiles is just moaning now too, a combination of sex thick sounds and filthy words, until his rhythm falters, until his hips start to lock, and he grabs onto Derek’s side, opens his mouth wide against the side of his neck.

“Derek, I’m com- Derek- I ca- can’t-”

Derek cuts him off, reaching for Stiles’ hair and begging, “Come in me, Stiles. Stiles. Come in my ass, please god, I _need_ it. Stiles, _please_ ,” and Stiles inhales sharply, and comes on a loud groan, hips pistoning wildly a couple more times, fucking his come as deep as it can go. The first couple thrusts have Stiles’ cock glancing off his prostate by complete accident as he’s coming, and it’s enough to get Derek to come untouched with a roar. 

There’s a long silence, silence only broken by jagged breathing, before Stiles rolls off with a twitch and a wince, and drops onto his side of the bed. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, rubbing his face, and when Derek grunts out a sleepy, “I prefer being called Derek during sex,” he lets out these little giggles and takes it as an excuse to cuddle close. 

“You are such a dad, oh my god. Your jokes should be illegal.” Stiles gripes, curling an arm around Derek’s sweaty back and tucking into the thick of his shoulder.

Derek turns his head to the other side to be able to look at him and positions his whole body to make room for the octopus his boyfriend’s turned into. “You laugh at them; you can’t complain too much.”

Stiles makes a sour face, but smiles it away and runs his hand down the expanse of his back. Derek closes his eyes and relaxes against the feeling of being held, however gently, after such intense, satisfying love making.

Until, that is, the hand moves away from his back and against his ass, and fingers start gently poking at his hole.

“If you even think about sticking your fingers in your mouth…” Derek threatens without opening his eyes, and hears Stiles’ smile more than sees it when he says, “I dunno, it sounds appealing to be the one to lick all that out, get my mouth sloppy on my claim to your ass, knowing that it’s my come leaking out like that, making you such a pretty picture…”

Derek opens one eye to glare at him, cheeks red-hot, and Stiles rolls his eyes, although the smirk never leaves.

“I was checking to make sure you were okay, actually. We got rough there near the end. Don’t need you hemorrhaging.”

“How romantic,” Derek says dryly, then remembers earlier’s safeword scare and softens. “I’m fine. You weren’t too rough.”

Stiles settles, satisfied by the lack of red on his fingers, and it’s in the silence between Derek debating a shower and the merits of just lazily “forgetting” that Stiles says, “I’m sorry.”

Derek furrows his brow, and looks at him, looks at his tense face and twitchy hands; for all that sex tired him out, it didn’t relax him. 

“For what, Stiles?” 

Stiles shrugs and plays with the frayed edge of his pillowcase. “I’ve seen you. I know how you look at me sometimes, like you’re dying to be able to help me, but I’m just not letting you.”

“Hey, now-”

“Let me finish,” Stiles says, and his eyes look hunted again before he looks towards the wall. The silence buzzes at Derek again for a long time, the longest yet, until Stiles talks again. “I killed someone. Not- not during the Nogitsune, not while I was something else. Derek, I killed someone. And yeah, the Nogitsune fucked me up. I still feel guilty for that, for all those people, but this? This was me. 

“And I have to live with that, no matter the circumstances, no matter that it was self defense, I have someone’s blood on my hands.”

Derek curls into Stiles as his breathing picks up, wraps an arm around his body, tacky with dried sweat and spunk, and just holds. 

“I went somewhere for a while. When… after. Once sense was knocked into Scott, and we were slowly becoming- not okay, but we could have a full conversation again, y’know? We were attacked and I was taken and people forgot me. They still haven’t really remembered. Do you know what that feels like? Walking in a town where you grew up in, where you know everyone’s name and no one knows yours?”

Derek did not. Couldn’t even imagine.

He asks, “Where were you taken?”

Stiles shivers, cold even under Derek’s body heat and the sheets, and stays silent. The buzzing grows loud, louder, loudest, and Derek feels like every particle in his body is shaking as Stiles lies there. 

Finally, when the shift from buzz to whine has reached a crescendo in Derek’s ears, Stiles sniffles and says, “One day I’ll tell you. But for now… for now, I’ll just say hell.”

He doesn’t know what to do, what to say, to make Stiles’ tone turn back from brittle to happy, figures he’s only increased the amount of cracks around Stiles’ soul. He doesn’t know what the proper reaction here is, so he reverts, and strangely enough, it feels right, it feels like the correct thing to do, so he grunts and says, “Not a level ten friend yet, huh?”

And the silence that was oppressive turns incredulous, misery broken by Stiles stiffening in surprise before snorting loudly- grossly, actually, it didn’t have to be that loud but Derek’s just happy he’s _laughing_ \- and Stiles does, he laughs and laughs and it’s hysterical and unconstrained and a bit insane, but it’s not tears, and it’s not pain. 

“Derek,” Stiles tries to gasp, “Derek.”

Derek smiles a little helplessly at him, shocked and warm and still orgasm loose, and lifts an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Stiles brings a hand to his face to cover himself, before he stops laughing, and his smile is so, so warm; it’s the smile he gave professing his love earlier, and he tells Derek, “Oh, Derek, you’ve always been a level ten friend.” And his expression goes a little sad, but mostly very happy, and he says, with none of the glibness he usually uses to say stupid shit like _level ten friend_ -

He says, “You’ve always been a level ten friend,” and he says, “I love you,” and he says, “Thank you,” and Derek feels like he’s finally done it.

He’s finally started filling in some of those cracks with the gold that sparks from Stiles’ eyes when he’s happy.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was originally supposed to be a 1000-word character introspection ficlet of Stiles post the shitheap JD left us, but bc I am trash who doesn't outline shit, this took a turn. And then another turn. Oh, look at that, Derek's suddenly a subby bottom. Stiles is a cumslut. Nothing I wanted to mention was even alluded to. I don't even have the excuse of alcohol I'm just appalled at myself tbqfh. Also, I wrote actual porn my 13 yr old baby self is currently crying somewhere and she doesn't know why. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Triggers:  
> \- they start out rough. It's just so rough. The way Derek's mindset goes, it's: while he's more than ok w/ this, he'd rather marvin gaye it up and i dunno light candles. Make love. He's a sensitive soul. 
> 
> \- there's a moment where there's a mix-up and A thinks B has safeworded out but he hasn't he REALLY REALLY HASNT I PROMISE and panics abt hurting B so badly he became nonvocal. They later make jokes alluding to the incident.
> 
> I think that's it. Just rough sex leading up to a misunderstanding about safewords and nonverbal tapping out.


End file.
